


That No Shadow Can Touch

by yet_intrepid



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene, Shiro Week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 16:52:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8631517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yet_intrepid/pseuds/yet_intrepid
Summary: Shiro wakes up in Keith's shack. Aka, Shiro sees his own sun for the first time in a year.
Very short fill for Shiro Week, Day 3: Sky / Stars





	

Shiro wakes up slowly, and at first, he doesn’t open his eyes.

As the heaviness of sleep—or unconsciousness?—fades, voices trickle towards him. They’re speaking English, seems like, although that can’t be right. But he catches the words with an ease he never had in Galra, and it sounds different, too, from anything filtered through translation tech. Less stiff.

“Geez, my back. This couch is terrible!”

“Oh yeah, worse than the floor, huh? Cause you totally could’ve slept on the floor, you know. Like the rest of us.”

“Yeah, _Lance_. Besides, shouldn’t you be saying thank you to Keith for letting us stay here so we didn’t have to sneak back into the dorms?”

_Keith_. The voices go on, but Shiro stops paying attention as it all rushes back at him. He’s escaped. Keith found him. He’s on Earth—

Shiro opens his eyes. He’s in a tiny room, just big enough for the creaky bed he’s lying on and a small set of drawers. Thin gray light is filtering through the window.

He sits up slowly, as if a sudden movement would shatter everything, and turns to face the window. Then he reaches out with his natural hand to slide the curtains apart.

The sky opens up above him. As he shifts on the bed to lean against the window, pale sunbeams flicker at the corners of his vision. The last of the stars blink sleepily against faint streaks of pink. He should know their names, he thinks, but he doesn’t. He can’t remember.

There is so much he can’t remember, really, but he does know this—these are his stars. The ones he looked at and dreamed of, the ones he loved enough to joyfully catapult himself into a zero-G abyss. And he half-wishes he didn’t, but he loves them still.

For a moment, Shiro lets himself push it all aside: the fear and the mystery and the way he wants to flinch, curl up his fists at every unexpected sound. For a moment, his natural hand pressed against the glass, he watches the sun come up and marvels at the colors, the oranges and blues he’d almost forgotten existed, the pure brightness that bathes everything.

Shiro closes his eyes again. It’s sure to go away, this dream of peace and safety, but when he’s back in his cell, he’s got to keep this. He’ll store up the stars inside him, where no one can take them away.


End file.
